


On The Edge

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Smut, Switching, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-13 14:25:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7979965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adventures in edging!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Solo performance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Xilu82](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xilu82/gifts).



> There is really not much to say about this, the title and brief tags say it all :)
> 
> Um... enjoy? :)
> 
> x

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is away, and Dean misses him, so indulges in a little self-entertainment

Light shining in his eyes and startling Dean awake is not the way he wanted to start his morning. He raises his head a touch to glare at the overhead light that he’d forgotten to switch off last night when he fell asleep, and drops it back down again with a thud, throwing one arm over his eyes and stretching a little.

 

Neither, Dean remembers with a groan that has him pressing himself further back in the bed in protest, is the reminder that Cas is still away. And will be away. Until probably god knows when. Which right now feels like unreasonably too far away to Dean.  

 

With another sigh that if Dean would have heard from anyone else he’d have said was petulant, Dean yawns, and slides a palm down his chest, under the duvet and over the bulge in his boxers, enjoying the slight comfort that gives him. 

 

Another stretch; Dean raises his hand and sneaks his fingers under the elastic of his boxers, a lighter sigh now as he gives his half-hard cock a few tugs. Dean lays there for a few minutes like this, giving himself some unhurried attention, thinking how he’d much prefer to be waking this morning with Cas’ hand doing exactly this for him.

 

But Cas is somewhere distinctly not  _ here _ , fighting some far off angelic issue that’s probably beyond Dean’s comprehension - he knows that, and that the nature of their lives always means long hours and long stretches of time apart. Dean knows he should be used to this by now since they’ve been together for the best part of two years, and also knows he’s been the one to leave Cas behind on just as many occasions fighting his own battles, but sometimes, well. He can’t help but miss him.

 

Still stroking himself, Dean reaches out and unhooks the phone from the charger, thumbing through to find the photos of Cas he keeps there just for moments like this. Dean grins; that suit that hides under Cas’ usual trenchcoat fits him perfectly  _ everywhere _ , and the picture, taken of Cas in a dimly lit motel room wearing his usual get up, with his fly open and one hand wrapped around his own hard cock is exactly what Dean wants to see right now if he can’t have the real thing.

 

Dean feels himself straining harder against his palm and smirks, an idea forming that makes him stir a little more.

 

He pushes the phone back onto the bedside cabinet and throws back the duvet, shrugging out of his boxers and splaying his legs. Dean strokes his inner thighs, the crease at the join of his legs, runs his fingers through his pubes, watching himself harden further. 

 

With a featherlight touch Dean ghosts his palm up the full length of his shaft, circling it lightly over his head and watching as it catches there a couple of times. Then he’s loosely wrapping his fingers around his head, lowering his hand until it’s at his base, then trailing back up so there is only the smallest amount of actual contact.

 

A flare of arousal heats his stomach, and Dean repeats the movement again. He’s got all day, Dean figures. There are all sorts of things he could - probably should be doing right now; looking for new cases, following up those couple of ones he and Sam recently went on to make sure there’s no other trouble, grocery shopping, laundry - or something.

 

But for now, he’s going nowhere, just teasing himself harder slowly, feeling his arousal building and wanting to prolong it for as long as possible. 

 

Dean grips and fists himself a little harder then drops his hand, feeling the coolness of the sheets against his palms as he looks down at his own cock bouncing there and waiting. He reaches out again, pulls open the drawer and out a bottle of lube, knowing Cas will notice how much emptier it is when he comes back and the wicked grin he’ll get in response.

 

He drizzles the lube on to his hand, clenching and unclenching a fist for a minute to warm it slightly then gripping himself again, groaning at that tight slickness of his palm around his cock. He shifts until his feet are flat on the bed and fucks up into his hand, grazing the pad of his thumb over his head and smiling at how good that feels. 

 

Dean lets himself build, that heat rolling in his lower stomach, his balls starting to clench and tighten, that overall rush he feels focusing on his cock in his hand and all the little sensations he’s dragging out of himself. And just as he’s getting close, just as he’s about to come, he forces his hand away, gasping a little and watching as his cock twitches in the sudden coolness of the air around it, as though still trying to seek out the heat.

 

Dean smiles; well this could be a fun game to play, he thinks, and gives himself a few minutes to calm and watch himself straining, waiting until the tightness in his gut eases up a little before he’s wrapping his hand around himself again, dragging it up and down the slick heat of his cock.

 

Dean takes himself to the edge twice more like this, that heat getting more intense and even a little painful now, so when he holds himself back this time he makes the break longer, panting softly and watching the angry redness of his cock straining hard.

 

Dean hums to himself, smiling, lubes up his fingers and parts his legs. Lets out a soft gasp as he pushes one finger in past the tight ring of muscle that is his hole, and keeps going until he’s as far in as he can be, then slowly draws it back out. He does this, slowly and teasingly, just one finger, the burning stretch immediately giving way to sparks of arousal.

 

He’s just about to push another finger in alongside the first when he pauses, thinks again. Because that’s a weird thought to have, right? Is it? Surely he doesn’t really-

 

But Dean cuts his words off, slips his finger back out and stands, walking over to and rummaging through drawers until he finds a small mirror. He pauses, having the sudden thought that perhaps previous Men of Letters might have used it for the much more innocent act of  _ shaving _ , then shrugs, walks back over to the bed, lays back down.

 

Dean lubes up his fingers some more, parts his legs, and angles the mirror so he can watch what he’s doing to himself as he slides two fingers in this time. Why being able to see himself like this flares even more arousal through him he doesn’t know, but the second Dean starts scissoring his fingers and opening himself up more that flare is hard, like an actual press of weight on his stomach, watching the way his glistening hole gets more red, more slick, and much wider. 

 

Dean angles his finger tips, letting out a stuttering gasp as he finds and brushes over his prostrate, watches the way his hole contracts around his fingers as a result. He presses down there, throws his head back for a second, then raises it to look again as he forces in a third finger, roughly thrusting into himself and glancing over his prostate with every second strike.

 

It takes him longer to build this way, Dean knows, and he watches his hole in the mirror and the way his cock is leaking pre-cum, and every so often he gives a shudder that jolts his other hand, shifting the mirror so he catches a glimpse of his own flushed face. This feels a little dirty, a lot wrong, and he loves it; imagines Cas’ reaction were he to be here and watching. That thought has him groaning out loud, and Dean has to quickly slip his fingers out of himself and grab tightly around his base to stop himself from coming there and then.

 

Dean lays there for a few minutes, still panting, staring up at the ceiling, then picks up the mirror and puts it on the side, no longer interested in using it. This time, when he’s calm enough, he slides those fingers back inside and lightly fists himself with the other, taking it as far as he can before he’s grabbing tightly around his base again and arching up on the bed at his own self-imposed frustration.

 

To distract himself, Dean runs his fingertips over his legs, stomach, chest, circling over his already hard nipples and letting out a blast of air at how good that feels. These gentle touches add trails to the arousal that already surges through him; it’s as though every nerve ending is flickering to life wherever he touches himself. 

 

Eventually, when he’s calmed a little, Dean makes a loose fist and strokes himself very, very slowly, the skin of his shaft catching against his palm after he glides his hand over his head and sweeps up the precum there, leaving him slick. He forces himself to go slow, even when his hips twitch for him to fuck up in to his hand; Dean reminds himself repeatedly he’s in no hurry and groans softly at the thought of how good this is going to feel when he eventually allows himself to come.

 

Just that slightest amount of tug and drag has Dean building to climax again, his entire body twitching with the effort of stopping himself in time before letting it happen. He squeezes hard around his base to keep himself from tipping over that edge, gritting his teeth and curling his toes as he continues to try to resist. 

 

Dean shakily reaches out to the drawer in his bedside cabinet again, fumbling for the vibrator he and Cas have only used a handful of times but that Cas tells him he looks like he’s going to erupt every time he uses it on him. Releasing himself and keeping still for a moment as though to test his own control, Dean quickly lubes the vibrator up and spreads his legs, holding himself open a little to slide it all the way inside him. Instantly Dean’s letting out a guttural moan at just how fast and full he’s filled, doesn’t even think he can handle turning the speed on as he slowly drags the thickness in and out of himself.

 

Dean keeps a firm grip on his cock, squeezing hard as he continues teasing himself and watching the precum leaking out of his slit relentlessly now. He’s breathing out short sharp breaths in an attempt to calm himself, arching up a little and having to keep everything very, very still for a moment as he’s barely a second away from coming.

 

With one longer, lower breath Dean forces his hands away from himself, feeling the length sitting heavily inside him and whimpers slightly as he wills himself not to buck his hips to feel the friction that by now he’s so desperate to have. He waits, forces himself to count a minute, then another, until he’s counted five and he can feel his heart rate has slowed enough so that it doesn’t feel like it’s about to beat its way through his chest.

 

Another deep breath and Dean’s reaching out, pressing the button at the base of the vibrator and moaning softly as it buzzes life. He knows he’s not going to make it beyond this setting but that’s okay he thinks, slowly dragging it in and out of himself and writhing around at the fullness. Then he’s pressing down hard on the base of it so the vibrator’s as deep inside him as it can possibly go, letting out a little whine as he grips almost punishingly around his cock and feels it pulse, strain, seek out release.

 

Dean grips his fingertips around the edge of the vibrator’s base and rocks himself on to it, sliding his hand up his length to gather up all of the precum leaking from him and wiping it back down. This is it, he’s not going to be able to hold back this time, everything is too tightly coiled, too tense, to hard for him not to. 

 

Dean grinds the vibrator into himself, fisting himself hard and frantic, gasping out breaths as he gets closer and closer. One final press, one final stroke, and it starts; a hard wave begins its roll in his abdomen flaring up, and out, lighting him up with a surge of such blissful, painful pleasure that he’s crying out, contorting with the arch of his body as wave after wave pulses through him. 

 

When Dean drops back down on to the bed he’s panting, boneless, looking down at the sheer mess of cum that he’s splattered over his own chest and letting out a blast of laughter. When he can manage it Dean shakily reaches down between his legs and slowly pulls the vibrator back out, whimpering a little at the drag of it coming out of him. Then he’s dropping it down on the bed, stretching out as far and wide as he can reach, enjoying the languid stretch of his limbs and allowing a long, contented sigh to escape from his lips.


	2. For an audience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas has to leave soon, but before he does he wants to see for himself what Dean does to himself when he's alone.

Dean had been right about Cas noticing how much emptier the bottle of lube was when he finally did return. He’d glanced down at the bottle in his hand as he’d sat back on his haunches between Dean’s legs, looked up at Dean’s face with a raised eyebrow and a wicked expression, then pounded him hard into the mattress leaving him a reminder every time he sat down for several days afterwards.

 

Nothing had been said about it at the time, and it has now been a week since, so when Dean returns from a shower to find Cas sitting on the bed with the bottle of lube in his hand and staring down at it thoughtfully, Dean is at least half-surprised.

 

“You okay there, Cas?” Dean says, coming to a stop a little in front of Cas and waiting, curious to know what’s going on in his head. Cas has stayed with him for the entire past week and says he’s going to have to leave again soon; the thought makes Dean sad and lonely already, and he hates the closed off expression on his face now, fearing something is wrong.

 

“Do you often touch yourself when I am away, Dean?”

 

Cas raises his eyes to look at Dean but his face is a mask, so Dean has no clue at all about what he’s really thinking.

 

“Uh…” Dean stutters, “Not… not all the time. But sometimes, sure. Kinda need it, you know?”

 

“It is merely a physical release,” Cas says, and Dean’s hating the tone because he doesn’t know what it means.

 

“Well yeah, sometimes. Sometimes I just need to… to… you know,”

 

There is a flicker of amusement on Cas’ face and Dean knows it’s because of his own inability to say certain _words_. But then it’s gone, the mask is back, and Dean is at a loss all over again.

 

“Most of the time, though, it’s ‘cos I’m missing you,” Dean adds, and if he says it in a blast of words that comes out jumbled though quiet, there’s nothing he can do about that.

 

Cas catches his gaze, holds it; Dean swallows hard. “You think about me when you touch yourself, Dean?”

 

“Uh huh. Obviously. Who else you think I’m gonna think about?”

 

For a moment there is silence, a silence that makes Dean uncomfortable, and somehow worried he’s offended Cas in some way.

 

“You… you don’t… you don’t, uh, _mind_ , do you?” Dean says, wondering why he’s asking because it’s not something he’s ashamed of doing, and also hating the way he sounds like he’s asking for _permission_.

 

Cas immediately rolls his eyes, stands and steps closer to Dean, grabs his wrist and pulls until Dean’s hand is cupping the obvious bulge in Cas’ pants resulting in Dean letting out a soft gasp.

 

“Clearly I do not _mind_ , Dean. Not that it would be my place to object either way,”

 

Dean’s washed with relief, and also arousal at Cas’ obvious arousal, and feels himself starting to stir.

 

“Okay. Okay, good,”

 

“I have on occasion _heard_ you,” Cas adds, a small, wicked grin forming and instantly turning Dean’s cheeks pink.

 

“Uh…”

 

“You know, Dean,” Cas begins almost conversationally, leaning in and kissing him quickly, “when you _think_ of me when you are touching yourself… you say my name as though it is a _prayer_ ,”

 

Dean doesn’t know if he’s more embarrassed, amused, or aroused by that realisation, instead shifts slightly where he’s stood and clears his throat, leaning forward to claim a kiss of his own.

 

Cas smiles against his lips then takes a step back, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and picking up and shifting the chair in the room until it’s at the foot of the bed. He sits; Dean’s watching the entire thing with all kinds of anticipation.

 

“I want to watch,”

 

Dean sucks in a breath; did Cas really say what he thinks he just said?

 

“I want to watch you touch yourself, Dean. I want to watch you come. I want to see how long you can make it last,”

 

Clearly, the thought of seeing that _isn’t_ something Cas objects to judging by the way he’s now cupping and adjusting himself, and looking back at Dean expectantly as though Dean’s somehow keeping him waiting.

 

“You want me to…” Dean starts, words trailing away. He’s not exactly shy about this, but it’s still going to take him a minute to get used to the idea.

 

“I do,” Cas confirms with a stiff nod, letting his eyes drift down from where he’s staring at Dean, to the bed behind him, then back up.

 

A shot of desire hits Dean so hard then that he actually feels a little winded. Cas looks at him as though daring him not to do as he’s asked, and before Dean realises he’s moved he’s turned to face Cas properly, pulling his t-shirt up over his head and off in one move.

 

Cas’ eyes linger appreciatively over Dean’s chest for a second then are back on his face. Dean clears his throat, holds that eye contact as he undoes a button, unzips his fly, slides his jeans and boxers down in one go and steps out of them, standing there slightly self-consciously.

 

Cas’ eyes fall down to where Dean’s already half-erect and licks his lips; the action makes Dean’s breath catch and then he’s moving, snatching up the bottle of lube from where Cas had let it roll on to the bed then laying down himself.

 

It takes another moment to fight back the flicker of embarrassment he feels, but then Dean’s adjusting the pillows under his head, sliding his feet flat on the bed and splaying his legs so that Cas has the perfect view. Cas’ expression is intent, and Dean wonders if he’ll actually be able to sit there and keep his hands to himself for this, then smiles at the thought.

 

Dean breathes out slowly then runs an almost idle hand over his chest, pinching his nipples in turn between thumb and finger until they’re rigid, sliding an open palm down over his stomach until the edge of his fingers are in his pubes. With both hands he reaches down between his legs to cup and roll his balls, splaying his legs a little further and looking up at Cas.

 

“Pretend I am not here,” Cas instructs him, all but leaning forward to get a better view.

 

Dean smirks, drops his hands for a second and spreads his cheeks, feels his cock jolt at the way Cas shifts uncomfortably and drops his gaze to Dean’s hole. Then he’s running his fingertips over his legs, stomach, chest, before gently teasing himself hard with them, in no hurry at all.

 

When he’s hard enough to grip himself, Dean smears up the little precum already leaking with a circling of his palm over his head then slides his hand down, announcing how good that feels with a soft moan. Cas has told him on more than one occasion how much he likes to _hear_ Dean when they’re like this together; Dean intends to be as noisy as he possibly can for him.

 

Dean strokes himself lazily, with a loose grip that twists up a little on the head and occasionally squeezes, before letting go altogether and pressing his hands against the bed, letting his cock pulse and strain by itself.

 

Cas makes a disgruntled noise that makes Dean smirk; he reaches out and uncaps the lube, drizzles some on to his palm and goes back to slowly fisting himself. Everything feels more heightened with an audience even if he is supposed to be pretending he’s alone. He’s building faster, that warm, heated pressure growing in him and making him writhe a little to both chase and avoid it.

 

Dean tightens his grip a touch, speeds up a little letting out soft moans that tell Cas exactly how good that feels. And he’s getting closer, and closer, closer still before sliding his hand back down his shaft and firmly gripping around his base, holding off coming, letting out a whimper at the self-denial.

 

There is a scraping noise that makes Dean look up; Cas has moved the chair closer to the bed until his knees are almost flush with it, and Dean’s cock jolts in response to the eager expression on his face.

 

“Keep going,” Cas tells him with urgency, his eyes on Dean’s hand as though he physically can’t look away.

 

Dean grins, pauses, lets himself calm a little then begins again, this time holding his grip lose and pressing his feet into the bed, fucking up into his hand, moaning at feel of it. He fights to keep the thrusts slow, and even, spreading his legs a little wider to get a better balance and hearing the click in Cas’ throat as he does.

 

Dean’s breath is coming out in short gasps and groans, taking himself as far as he can before having to stave himself off again with a firm grip around his base that has him moaning. He needs longer this time to calm, feeling his heart beating hard and his legs tremble, and hearing Cas’ hitched breath from where he’s still sat watching.

 

Dean manages to bring himself to the edge twice more like this, his moans getting louder and his whimpering when he stops himself just short of coming more desperate. It’s only made worse because of the rapt way Cas is staring at him, hands gripping lightly in the thickness of the duvet as though he’s trying to hold on to his own sense of control.

 

When Dean lubes up his fingers and presses two in at once, grunting at the burn and stretch of it and letting his legs fall open even wider, the sound Cas makes is distinctly choked. Cas told him to pretend he wasn’t there so Dean does just that, scissoring himself open and pressing his fingertips in and around until he hits his prostate, stutters forward. He swirls a tiny circle over it, crying out at the sense of being overstimulated, then presses hard, writhes against his hand before abruptly pulling it back out and panting.

 

Dean looks down at the way his cock twitches and leaks, and beyond to where Cas is staring at him intensely, and Dean has about a second to reach out and grip his fingers in a tight circle around his cock all over again to stop himself coming. His stomach clenches and his balls jolt; it takes a good few minutes of counting in his head this time for Dean to calm.

 

When he is calm enough Dean presses his fingers back into himself, fucking himself slowly and thoroughly until he’s brought right to that edge again. Cas is now leaning forward and looks as though he is ready to pounce; whatever restraint he has is somehow even more arousing to Dean because he thinks that if the situation were reversed and he was watching Cas doing this to himself, he’d be sat there with his cock in his hand and would have probably come ages ago. Or, you know, joined in.

 

Dean drags his hand over his cock slowly, taking his time to savour every drag of skin that sends a jolt of desire right through him. It’s torture going this slowly when all he wants to do is fist himself hard and furiously, but he does it, glancing every few seconds at Cas’ face and feeling his breath catch at the expression he sees.

 

Dean brings himself within seconds of coming again then drops his grip, stretches his legs out flat on the bed and forces his hands under his thighs, watching his cock strain in protest as he fights to hold back.

 

Dean and Cas both stay perfectly still staring at his angry, leaking cock for a few minutes, and the tension in the air between them is crackling. Then Dean’s raising his legs until his feet are flush on the bed again, splaying his legs for Cas to see, and pressing two fingers deep inside himself with a soft groan.

 

Dean’s at the point where it’s going to be impossible to hold back, and he locks eyes with Cas as he wraps his hand firmly around his cock, fisting himself as hard and fast as he’s been desperate to while letting every moan and whimper slip from his mouth.

 

Cas looks tortured and in awe somehow, as though he’s holding his breath almost, but Dean’s having trouble concentrating on his face when that roaring wave of pleasure is building and he’s getting closer, and closer, fucking into himself as hard as he is stripping his cock. Everything is tense, building, heated, and then it’s starting; that final wave that has him pressing hard into the bed and letting out a guttural groan as that wave becomes a wall and slams into him, leaving him limp and panting, thoroughly spent.

 

Dean lays there for a few seconds staring up at the ceiling, for some reason not daring to look in Cas’ direction. But with the telltale sound of a zipper being pulled down his head is jerking up off of his pillow. Cas has his hand on himself, pumping himself furiously, and Dean barely has time to move to enjoy the view before Cas is coming hard, and loud, feet slipping against the floor as he falls back a little in his chair, breathless.

 

Dean lets out another groan, drops his head back down, smiles as he hears Cas stumbling to his feet, and feels a light brush over his skin as Cas cleans him up. The bed dips beside him and Dean opens his eyes to find Cas kneeling then laying down beside him, just as naked as himself.

 

Dean rolls into him, a question in his expression that Cas leans forward to kiss away, wrapping an arm around Dean’s waist and pulling him closer, wriggling until they are both settled. “I said that I have to leave _soon_ , Dean. Soon is not yet. Especially not after you allowed me to see _that_ ,”

 

Cas look then is wicked, triumphant, and almost as though he is plotting something that Dean’s already more than ready to be on the receiving end of. But for now he’s tired, so lets out a soft laugh, claims another kiss, and allows himself to drift off to sleep with Cas watching over him.


	3. Getting a helping hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean have a little time together, and this time, he wants to get involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for the wonderful [Xilu82](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Xilu82/pseuds/Xilu82) ;) xx

“I would like you to wear this today,”

 

Dean looks up at Cas standing suddenly beside where he’s sat on the bed and raises his eyebrows, looking down at Cas’ hands that are clearly covering something up. Dean lets out a blast of something that isn’t quite laughter when Cas uncurls his fingers to reveal a small black butt plug, and stares back at him feeling his mouth hanging a little open.

 

“Uh…”

 

“I know that we haven’t tried this before,” Cas says, raising his eyes impossibly slowly from the plug in his hands to Dean’s eyes with an expression that has Dean’s jeans tighten, “But I believe it would be… interesting.”

 

“‘Interesting’?” Dean repeats, aware he’s currently capable of only one word answers. 

 

“Yes,” Cas says, voice dripping with intent. “I very much enjoyed watching you make yourself  _ wait _ , Dean. I would like to see how long you could do that with some… assistance,”

 

Dean’s shifting uncomfortably, because although a thousand protests are screaming for attention, the thought of exactly what Cas is suggesting is mostly blocking out anything else. 

 

“You, uh… you wanna watch again?” Dean says, finding the words stuttering their way out as he thinks of how that’s going to feel having Cas’ eyes on him the entire time.

 

“As much as is possible, yes,” Cas says, leaning down and kissing him a lot more chastely than the idea he’s suggesting. “And I intend to… participate also, if that is acceptable.”

 

Dean snorts, raises his hands quickly to hold Cas’ face in place and kisses him hard, wordlessly giving his agreement to whatever it is that Cas is wanting. 

 

“Can we start now, Dean?” Cas says, leaning down over him and kissing his way down Dean’s neck.

 

“S-sure,” Dean stutters out, and feels Cas smile against him. Then Cas is pulling him to his feet, wrapping his hands around him from the back for a second and grazing a hand over his cock through his jeans, before deftly unbuttoning and zipping him and pulling his jeans and boxers down.

 

Dean lets out a noise that’s a pathetic whimper of non-protest, hands clenching at his sides as Cas’ breath ghosts over his neck.

 

“Will you kneel for me, Dean?” Cas mumbles gruffly into his ear and presses his hands on his shoulders, waiting. Dean nods, kneels, lets Cas bend him how he wants him on the bed, lets out another soft whimper as Cas spreads apart his legs a little further for him with his knee.

 

Before there’s any thinking time, Dean’s stuttering forward at the feel of Cas’ lubed up fingers already pushing into him, scissoring him open just enough to be able to slide the plug inside. Dean’s breath stutters again as the tip of the plug glances over his prostate, and Cas is pulling him back to his feet, redressing him, pressing kisses into wherever he can reach.

 

Dean shifts awkwardly, adjusting to the feel of the nub of latex inside him and gasping a little at the instant strike against his prostate as he does. But it’s okay, it doesn’t feel bad, feels like it should be manageable, Dean thinks to himself. Depending entirely on what he’s doing, that is.

 

“Sam said to tell you that we need groceries,” Cas says, stepping backwards and observing Dean for a reaction. Dean’s heart thuds at the thought of going about such a mundane, domestic activity knowing what’s inside him, knowing  _ why _ it’s inside him, and how it’s going to be feeling it shift with whatever movements he’s going to have to make.

 

He thinks this is going to take a level of control he’s not sure he actually has, but lets Cas take his hand and quietly lead him out of the room anyway, excitement warring with his urge not to disappoint. 

 

***

 

Bumps in the road have Dean whimpering and a particularly heavy jolt at one point has Dean having to pull over, curling into the steering wheel and having to lay his head down there for a few minutes before he can even lift it again.

 

“Are you okay?” 

 

The concern in Cas’ voice and the reassuring press of his hand against Dean’s back somehow ground him, giving Dean the strength to shakily nod, take another couple of breaths to steady himself, then steer them back out into the road.

 

“We can stop this at any time, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean’s shaking his head rapidly.

 

“No, I wanna try this,” he says, although that wave of pleasured pressure that’s building in him says otherwise, says he really might not last anywhere near as long as he wants to. There’s something in addition to what’s actually nestling inside him that’s stirring his arousal deeper, and that’s that Cas put it there, Cas wants to see him like this, Cas wants to watch him fall apart in all the best ways. 

 

“If you dare think that you are letting me down,” Cas warns; Dean turns to him embarrassed and half raises his shoulders into a shrug.

 

“What happened to not reading my mind, Cas?”

 

“I told you,” Cas said easily, eyes turning back to the road, but a small smile playing on his face. “Sometimes… when you think of me. When you are like  _ this _ -” Unhelpfully, Dean thinks to himself trying to reign in his control: Cas is slowly stroking over his swollen cock through his jeans in an idle, almost distracted way, “then what you  _ think _ is in fact,  _ prayer _ ,”

 

Dean tells himself that wasn’t a whimper that just escaped his lips, but knows he’s only lying to himself. 

 

Across the parking lot, through the entrance of the store; Dean’s made it this far and has to grip hard to the handle of the cart to keep a hold of himself. Cas drops a sweet kiss on his shoulder that is in such contrast to the wicked look in his eyes that Dean’s knees give a little buckle to see it. 

 

Dean clears his throat and clenches his jaw in determination, steering the cart and going over his mental shopping list. With every twist, stretch and bend to reach things to put into the cart the plug shifts, lancing the sweetest of painful bursts of pleasure through him that have him curling over the cart and softly whimpering, making Dean feel as though he’s about to come at any time. He’s hard, so hard in his jeans that the zipper of his fly is digging into him, and he knows he’s leaking, that everything he’s wearing from the waist down is going straight in the laundry hamper the second he’s got himself some release.

 

If he even makes it that far. 

 

Because by the time they’re queuing at the checkout Dean feels like he’s going to explode, and not in any good way either. He feels out of control, and overwhelmed, and is suddenly wondering why people do this kind of thing and think it’s  _ fun _ .

 

“Go and wait in the car,” Cas says quietly right up close to him. Dean turns as though to protest but the look Cas gives him tells him there’s no way he’s about to refuse. Silently he goes to take his wallet out of his back pocket but even  _ that _ has him gasping out; Cas gives a small shake of his head and instead withdraws his own wallet, sliding out a credit card and waving it at him before gesturing towards the door again. 

 

Dean makes it back to the car, clutches to the roof for a moment, tells himself to get a grip. He also tries to tell himself he’s not letting Cas down, because he knows Cas will give him hell for even thinking such a thing. 

 

He’s still half leaned over the car and muttering to himself when Cas arrives with their bags of shopping. Cas takes one look at him and silently shifts the bags into one hand, holding his hand out for the car keys. It is a statement of how very far Dean is gone, because he doesn’t offer even the slightest of objections, dropping the keys on to his palm and sliding himself into the passenger seat with a soft breath out as he gingerly sits back down.

 

The ride back to the bunker is both slow and fast; Dean’s hands are curled in tight fists on his lap for the entire length of it. When the bunker’s in sight Dean indicates for Cas to just park the car outside for quickness; Cas turns to him and raises an eyebrow and drives to where Dean usually parks instead. 

 

“Cas,” Dean says, when they finally stop moving. “I, uh… I know you wanted to… to-”

 

“I know, Dean,” Cas tells him with a smile, leaning across the seat and kissing him. “We will do that another time. I still have every intention of participating with you when you next do  _ that _ . However. This time, I think sooner, rather than later for you, Dean. Would you agree?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean breathes out, knowing how desperate he’s sounding. “Yeah, Cas. I’m sorry I-”

 

Cas cuts off Dean’s apology with a dirty kiss that has Dean whimpering all over again, then promptly slides himself out of the car and waits for Dean to follow. Cas grabs the shopping from the car and they walk in together, and to Dean’s horror Sam is sat at the kitchen table, apparently nursing a cup of coffee.

 

“Hey, guys,” Sam calls in greeting; Dean doesn’t believe he can force himself to speak normally but he somehow manages. Cas sits down beside Sam and they indulge in a simple conversation over an article Sam is reading. Dean begins putting the shopping away feeling that it’s taking about a hundred times longer than normal.

 

“You okay over there, Dean? Need a hand?”

 

A hysterical burst of laughter ripples its way out of Dean then, and it’s made worse when he turns around to find Cas sitting there serenely looking as though butter wouldn’t melt. 

 

“No I’m good, I’m fine,” Dean stutters out and turns away again; slotting the last box of cereal where he wants it is almost too much, but he holds it together and turns back to them with a grin that feels stretched, and too wide.

 

“So. What are you guys up to?” Sam says; Dean almost crumples to the floor. 

 

“I-”

 

“Dean was going to show me something on Netflix,” Cas said, saving Dean from his stuttering.

 

“Cool. Hey, listen. I’m heading out for a bit. I’dve… I’dve picked stuff up if I knew I was going, but…”

 

Dean waves it away, although something in the back of his mind is piqued with curiosity. For another time, he thinks. 

 

Sam waves his goodbyes and Cas and Dean are left staring at each other from across the kitchen. Dean swallows hard; Cas stands, slowly removes his trenchcoat and jacket, unbuttons his shirt buttons at the neck as well as the wrists and slowly rolls up his shirt sleeves, with Dean’s complete and utter attention as he does. Cas even loosens the tie at his neck, sliding it off almost carelessly and dropping it down over the back of the chair that he’s just draped his other things over then quietly walks up to Dean, extending a hand.

 

“Come with me,”

 

It’s enough to make Dean whimper all over again, but he does, grabbing Cas’ hand and pulling himself upright, following him until they reach the bathroom. Cas bolts the door behind them just in case Sam decides to come back unannounced, Dean presumes, and leads Dean over to one of the sinks. He makes Dean face the mirror as he slides off his shirt, lifts his t-shirt over his head, unbuckles his belt and splays his fingers over Dean’s chest. 

 

“I want you to watch yourself, Dean,” Cas says quietly, staring Dean in the eye in the mirror as he steps to the side for a moment. Then he’s stepping behind him again, pressing a kiss into his shoulder blade then stroking his palm over Dean’s swollen length through his jeans. Dean stutters forward, clutching at the sink to keep himself up.

 

“I want you to be  _ noisy _ , Dean,” Cas adds; Dean whimpers, letting his head fall forward for a second then snapping his head back up when Cas reaches up to twist a nipple between his fingers.

 

“Watch,” Cas insists, stroking him harder, then reaching around him to undo Dean’s button, slide down his fly, shove everything down with an urgency that belies the calmness Cas is showing with his voice. 

 

Cas steps to the side a little again, keeping Dean’s gaze as he licks his own palm, reaches out and wraps his hand around Dean’s cock. Dean jolts forward, and the plug jolts with him. Cas circles over his head to collect up the precum there and slides his hand back down.

 

“Watch,” Cas demands; Dean forces his head back up from watching Cas’ hand on him and is rewarded by Cas reaching around with his other hand as well, fingers drifting through the hair at his base and stroking over his perineum and balls. Then Cas is kicking Dean’s feet apart a little wider making him grip harder to the sink; it’s just enough so that Cas can reach between his cheeks and tug on the grip of the plug that he’ll need when he pulls it back out. 

 

“Cas,” Dean stutters out as Cas begins to play with the plug, tugging on it and pushing it deeper in, as his other hand continues to stroke him and slick him down with his own precum.

 

“Watch,” Cas says for a third time; Dean does just that. Watches Cas’ cool hand around his swollen, furious-looking cock that’s leaking and looking like he’s going to go off at any minute. In fact he knows he is; that crescent that’s been building throughout this entire thing is only a few strokes away.

 

“Cas,” Dean pleads, and for a second he wonders if Cas is going to make him edge here anyway, despite knowing how desperate he’s feeling. He’s both excited and terrified by the thought because that pleasure/pain rolling through him is becoming unbearable.

 

“Cas,” he cries again; eyes on his cock as it slips through Cas’ fingers, with Cas picking up speed and the sound of his slick cock on Dean’s palm about the only thing he can hear. And it’s getting too hot now, getting too close; Dean curls his toes, braces himself, whimpers as Cas’ hand leaves his ass and drifts up to press into his stomach, picking up his pace with his other hand a furious notch.

 

Dean sobs as it rises in him, focussed to a tight point because of the plug inside him and the way it presses on his inner walls, his prostate, what feels like  _ everything _ as his gut coils, his balls clench. And with a final stuttered grunt he’s coming, watching wide eyed in the mirror as he shoots out thick white coils that paint trails over the sink and side, and one that even hits the mirror.

 

The plug inside him seems to make everything longer, harder, deeper as he comes; he’s breathless and weak kneed by the time he’s finished, letting his head drop down as he continues to prop himself up on his hands.

 

His attention is caught by the sound of a cupboard door opening and a zipper sliding down; Dean watches in the mirror as Cas stands next to him again slicking himself up with lube Dean had half-forgotten in his fog was under the sink.

 

With nothing more than a smirk Cas is bending him over, parting his cheeks, blowing over Dean’s hole and lifting his head up again to grin at Dean in the mirror then carefully tugging out the plug, lining himself up in its place. 

 

Dean holds his breath counting three seconds before Cas is slamming into him and Dean’s gripping tightly to the sink edge again for support. It’s tighter than usual because Cas is usually so insistent on being so careful with him, but the plug has kept him loose enough, and soon the slight pain he feels dissolves into something else entirely, especially as Cas watches his face in the mirror the entire time he’s pounding into him. 

 

Dean takes in the tight grip of Cas’ hands around his hips, the way Cas leans back a little to watch himself sliding into Dean, the look of pure lust in Cas’ eyes when he catches Dean’s in the mirror again. And then Cas is coming, so hard Dean can feel every individual spurt inside him, as Cas stutters forward himself and drops his grip from Dean, curling over his back.

 

A few minutes pass with nothing but the sound of their quickened breathing and then Dean finds himself in the shower with Cas, under the spray, being washed clean and stroked gently, Cas grinning at him wickedly and leaning in for a kiss.

 

“I enjoyed that very much, Dean,” Cas says, in that serious, solemn tone laced with wickedness that has Dean twitching each and every time. Even if he is exhausted and spent. 

 

“And next time,” Cas continues, flicking his tongue into Dean’s mouth in a way that is nothing but filthy, “Next time, we are going to  _ wait _ . We are going to make it  _ last _ . We are going to do that, Dean. Would you like that?”

 

Dean chuckles in disbelief, because he can’t believe Cas even needs to ask. But instead of answering he walks Cas back against the shower wall, swirling his tongue into Cas’ mouth and kissing him just as filthily back.

 

“Looking forward to it already, Cas,”

 

***

 

There is a noise that Cas makes when they’re making out like this that takes Dean back to sneaky sessions behind bleachers at whatever school he and Sam had been temporarily enrolled in when they were just teens. True, things are a bit different here: they’re horizontal on a bed rather than grinding up against each other on whatever vertical surface was around them, the stubble and lines on both of their faces speaks of their _years_ , as well as of their experience. And that sense of being in no hurry, knowing what’s going to happen between them doesn’t need to be rushed through in five minutes contrasts starkly with the vague memories lingering on the edge of Dean’s imagination. Along with the reminder that they can take all the time they want to do whatever they want, for however long they want to do it. 

 

Who said being in a steady, committed relationship couldn’t be fun?

 

As well as the noises Cas makes, it’s the little movements, the tiny nudges that make Dean’s heart thrum. Cas’ knee slotted between Dean’s thighs, his fingertips under the edges of his t-shirt sleeves, his nose along his collar. The way he reaches up and cradles the back of Dean’s head as he rolls him over, his mouthing along Dean’s neck that presses firmer and firmer until he’s nipping, his knees spreading Dean’s wider. And the way he circles and rocks his hips against him; honestly, sometimes it’s a mystery to Dean how he’s not already come from just this on so many previous occasions.

 

Warm fingers to his waistline and Cas is sliding up his t-shirt; Dean raises the fraction needed for Cas to wrestle it off of him then watches greedily as Cas removes his own. Buckles of belts, buttons of jeans, slides of flies; until they’re both jutting out through the fabric of their boxers and Cas is knocking against him, giving out a delicious moan as he does.

 

Cas bends down, kissing a path along Dean’s chest and mouthing over his cock through his boxers. Dean grunts at the brushes against him that send shoots of pleasure radiating out, his hand unconsciously reaching out and down to thread through hair that Dean loves getting his fingers through at every opportunity.  

 

A sudden shift and Dean’s boxers and jeans are being shoved down, and Cas is chasing Dean’s cock with his mouth until he’s sliding down over him and Dean’s clutching a little harder because of that tight, wet heat surrounding him. He rolls his neck forward so he can watch as Cas bobs up and down on him, pulling off completely on occasion but chasing his cock again to lick over his head before swallowing him down deep again, and still doing his best to grin around him as he stares back up.

 

Dean’s gripping a little tighter through Cas’ hair, fucking up a little into his mouth, building that burning heat of pleasure in his gut. Biting down on his lips, his knees splaying wider and his toes curling as he gets closer, and closer, until Cas is pulling off and pressing down hard on Dean’s thighs, watching with a grin the way Dean’s cock bobs and strains upright. 

 

Without anything other than a  _ look _ , Dean gets what Cas wants; his own arousal instantly forgotten, Dean’s up and on his knees, stripping Cas of the rest of his clothes and reaching over to the dresser for the lube, throwing it down beside them while he rolls Cas over on to his back and slots his torso in between Cas’ thighs. 

 

Dean presses down, splaying his fingers and for a moment feeling the usual thrill of having Cas’ hipbones beneath them, then wriggles up a little and flicks his tongue out over Cas’ head, smirking at the way it jolts. He shifts up some more so that he’s staring down over Cas’ cock, flicking out his tongue erratically and feeling himself straining at the little noises escaping from Cas’ lips. 

 

Dean takes Cas’ cockhead into his mouth and has to close his eyes to the way Cas moans, tries to push into his mouth. And slowly, slowly Dean slides down, taking in all he can inch by inch until his mouth is full, Cas’ head is pressing just inside his throat, and Dean is having to breathe out through his mouth. 

 

Cas whines, straining against Dean to move; it’s one of Dean’s favourite noises of Cas’, hearing him so helpless and at his mercy like this. Dean continues looking up at him without moving for a little longer then pulls off without warning and begins lapping his tongue out over his head all over again.

 

A few more licks and Dean is shifting, sitting up a little and biting back a laugh at the way Cas looks pointedly between his own cock and Dean’s mouth, incredulous at him for stopping.

 

“Doing okay there, Cas?” Dean teases; the  _ look _ Cas gives him has Dean throbbing, and he’s on his back again before he knows it. 

 

“I am well,” Cas offers, though his voice is gruff and torn, and it takes him a couple of tries to flip open the cap on the lube when normally he’s the epitome of smooth. 

 

Dean lets out an appreciative moan when Cas wraps his lubed up hand around his cock, his head falling back to the pillow as he splays his legs a little to enjoy what Cas is doing to him. Cas throws his leg over Dean’s thighs preventing him from moving, and raises and grips both of Dean’s hands above his head, his eyes glinting with wickedness.

 

Cas’ stroke is slow, the side of his curled fingers bumping against Dean’ base on every down stroke and his palm twisting at the perfect, learned spot just around Dean’s cock head. He keeps this pace up, unwavering, no altering of pattern, or grip, or anything at all as he keeps his eyes firmly on Dean’s face watching every flutter of his eyes, every pushed out breath, every time Dean’s lip is worried between his teeth. 

 

Dean tries and fails to get more friction by attempting to roll his hips; Cas’ leg across his own is a deadweight, and there is absolutely no give whatsoever, not so much as an inch. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t building, heat coursing through him painfully, tortuously slow, coiling and fluttering beneath the surface, his breath coming out in uncontrolled huffs that Cas seems to savour one by one, And just when he’s getting close, his heart is beating harder and his toes are curling in again, Cas lets go, leaving Dean’s cock straining and protesting at the sudden coolness of air around it instead of a slick, warm palm. 

 

Cas rolls forward, thrusting his tongue into Dean’s mouth in a dirty slide that Dean is helpless but to accept, chase and taste. Cas’ hand presses against his stomach, fingers wide, waiting a few moments before gripping him again, starting up that same torturous slow slide that has Dean gasping and bucking up against. 

 

Cas brings him to the edge like this twice more, and a third time that is faster, frantic, leaves Dean literally pleading with him for release. But Cas is having none of it, rolling to hover over him so that their cocks can knock together making them both moan, but other than the almost-continual kiss that they can’t seem to break from, allows no other contact.

 

“Gotta be your turn,” Dean manages to stammer out eventually. Cas smiles triumphantly, dips down to bite against Dean’s neck just at the spot he  _ knows _ will make him shudder, then shifts back up on to his knees, watching as Dean rolls his wrists and stretches his legs.

 

Cas’ hands are immediately on him and soothing, caressing where he’d previously gripped and then bending to follow that up with kisses to his thighs and wrists until he is dropping down on his pillow beside Dean and turning his head to the side to smile at him. 

 

Dean takes a minute to think, because he wants if not to get Cas back - because there’s no way he didn’t enjoy what Cas just did to him - then he wants to make him understand, the pleasure and pain of waiting, the intensity of being so close repeatedly yet pulling back each time, and when he finally comes…

 

Dean has to take a moment to reach out and grab hard around his own cock as thoughts of exactly how Cas will writhe, moan and whimper when he finally comes make him almost come himself.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Cas asks shrewdly, narrowing his eyes as his lips turn up at the corners, simply watching Dean back. Dean offers a shrug but rolls over without speaking, pressing one knee between Cas’ so he knows to part them then settles between them, wraps his hands just below his knees, raises and splays Cas open for him. 

 

Dean’s eyes trail down Cas’ body, lingering slowly all the way down, shifting lower on the bed as he does. He bends, licks a stripe up Cas’ cock making him jolt, then settles himself a little further and slides his hands up Cas’ inner thighs.

 

When Dean’s palms press either side of Cas’ hole and gently part his cheeks, exposing him, Cas gives a stuttered gasp at the final realisation of Dean’s intention. Because this, the thing that he is about to do, is one of the few things Dean does to him that turns Cas into a babbling, helpless wreck.

 

One long stripe of a lick and Dean can feel Cas’ inner thighs straining against his arms. His thumbs pressing him open a little wider so that repeated lick dips into him a little and Cas’ feet are slipping against the bed. A press of his tongue, an insinuation of a swirl around his rim and Cas is breathing heavy; Dean has to pause and press a smile into Cas’ thigh for a moment at the reaction before he can continue.

 

Slowly, by the nudge of the tip of his tongue into ever more pressing swirls, Dean works Cas open, pausing to blow over his hole from time to time just to see the way Cas shudders and his cock leaks. When he covers Cas’ hole with his mouth and sucks hard, Cas is crying out, would be arching up if it weren’t for the way Dean is pinning him down with his elbows and hands. Dean takes a second to grin up at him triumphantly then presses his tongue in deep, alternating between that and licking stripes over his hole. 

 

Dean studies the way Cas’ balls tense up and begin to raise, judges the exact moment when he needs to pull back. When he does, Cas is whimpering sorrowfully beneath him, attempting to thrust his hips up for Dean to continue. Dean just looks up at him gleefully and waits until he sees the frantic look on his face drop.

 

“Doing okay up there, Cas?”

 

The look Cas shoots him says  _ asshole _ , which makes Dean smile all the more before bracing his hands against the bed and raising himself up enough to take Cas into his mouth again in a slow, slick swallow.

 

Dean has to close his ears to the sounds Cas is making for a few seconds to calm himself, forcing back the urge to grind into the mattress for the relief of friction that he so desperately aches for. Instead he presses his lips in around Cas’ shaft and drags his way up, darting his tongue in and over his slit when he reaches his head, before swallowing him down again.

 

Dean repeats this, until he’s drooling messily with a mixture of saliva and precum, grinning down at the mess he’s made and wiping his mouth on Cas’ thigh, a gesture that for some reason has Cas whimpering all over again. 

 

“Get up here. Now,” Cas growls, completely unhelpfully, Dean thinks, as the gravel in Cas’ voice forces a fresh jolt of precum out of him. But he moves anyway, laying down beside him and smiling as Cas turns on his side. Cas all but grabs Dean’s face, pulling him in for a kiss that leaves him breathless. 

 

The click of the lube bottle cap has Dean’s eyes jolting open; he hadn’t even acknowledged that he’d closed them in the first place. With difficulty Cas drizzles some on to the palms of both of their free hands, pushing the cap closed against his thigh and dropping it behind him. He hooks his leg over Dean’s hip and shifts Dean’s leg so he can reach down between his cheeks, slide that lube over his hole and begin to press his fingers into him.

 

Dean reciprocates, and for a good few minutes they lose themselves to this; thrusting tongues and fingers, sucked in breaths, punched out moans when fingers press and reach. Raised legs for easier access, pausing to watch each other then diving straight back into the kiss that at times become little more than two tongues sliding and writhing over one another. 

 

Cas reaches for the lube and again pours some on to Dean’s waiting palm, pressing his hand there to take some for himself. He bends and half mouths, have nips at Dean’s neck as he wraps his hand around Dean’s cock, groaning as Dean reaches out to do the same. 

 

Side by side on their pillows they watch each other’s expressions as they strip each other’s cocks, pausing occasionally to grip around one another’s bases when it looks as though they’re getting too near and when that happens, leaning in to kiss soft apologies to lips.

 

In unspoken agreement, Cas is rolling on to his back and pulling Dean on top of him, spreading his legs wide and pulling Dean to slot between them. Dean presses Cas open but suddenly pauses; Cas stares down between his legs indignantly and rolls his hips forward insistently.

 

“Nope,” Dean says, a smile creeping on to his face. “Wanna watch you for a bit since you liked watching me so much,”

 

Cas raises an eyebrow that says all kinds of things that make Dean tremble, but shifts his hand to grip around himself and begins to stroke. Dean’s eyes are there instantly, and he’s settling himself cross legged between Cas thighs, unable to drag his eyes away from what Cas is doing to himself. With a shrewd look Cas alters his grip, changes his pace, stares Dean directly in the eye through every grunt and groan. 

 

Dean’s heart hammers as Cas starts furiously fucking himself, his hips jerking up erratically with every single stroke. And then he’s reaching out, gripping around his base so hard that from where Dean’s sat it looks painful as he lets out another stuttering gasp. 

 

Dean’s breathing erratically with him, shifting to his knees, ready to line himself up.

 

“No,” Cas barks out, shaking his head. “You wanted to watch. So you will watch,”

 

And if that isn’t one of the hottest things Dean has ever heard spill from anyone’s mouth he really, honestly doesn’t know what is.

 

Dean sits transfixed as Cas brings himself to the edge once again, writhing and sobbing in front of him as he denies himself coming one more time. Dean’s palming at himself every few seconds, and even has to lock his fingers around his base and keep them there for a while because he’s so close to coming himself.

 

With another wicked grin once he has calmed, Cas opens his legs a little wider and slides his hand down his stomach, through the tangle of hair at his base, and slips a finger inside himself with a soft moan of appreciation. He grips hard to his other thigh as he fucks himself on that one finger, then two, twisting his wrist up and all but stabbing at his prostate in a way that has him pitching forward with every second roll. 

 

Dean’s hand flies out, grips tight around Cas’ base, sure from the tension in his balls that he’s going to come at any second. Cas grins, slides a third finger in, fucks himself a few times then withdraws his fingers, deliberately wiping them over Dean’s lips in passing.

 

Dean stares back at him open mouthed and unable to think, until Cas is stretching catlike beneath him making his dick bounce on his chest. Cas looks down at Dean’s own cock still tightly trapped by Dean’s fingers then back up to his face, raising that one eyebrow again.

 

Dean’s properly on his knees in an instant, pressing against Cas’ thighs, stroking up his palms over his cheeks, sliding his thumbs either side of his hole and pulling. Dean stutters forward to see that waiting for him and lines himself up, slides inside Cas in one short, needy thrust making them both cry out.

 

Dean has to keep perfectly still and do some serious self-distracting so that he can even consider continuing. And after he thinks is enough time begins a soft roll of his hips, pulling himself out of Cas until his corona is catching and tugging against his rim. Cas’ eyes drop down and his hands grip tightly around Dean’s hips, as he watches Dean’s slow thrust in and out of him. 

 

Dean’s eyes are between them and on Cas’ cock, watching as it strains and leaks, brushing precum against his stomach when he falls forward when the wave of pleasures gets too much for him to be able to prop himself up. But he does, forcing himself up several times, fighting against the instinct to pound into Cas and chase his release. 

 

Cas’ breathing is beginning to shift in that telltale way Dean recognises that says how close Cas is getting himself. Dean slams into him hard and grinds his hips, his cockhead nudging over the exact spot that he aims for and resulting in Cas’ lower back lifting off the bed in a curl. But before he quite gets there Dean’s hand is between them and tight around Cas’ base and he’s pulling himself out of him, kneeling back, catching his own breath. 

 

The whine that Cas lets out then has Dean grabbing for his own dick, monitoring his breathing and talking himself through it before he can finally raise his eyes to look at Cas. Cas is wrecked; his eyes are blown with lust, his lips are swollen bruised from kisses and teeth, his breath is coming out in little shallow puffs that curl his mouth into an  _ o _ that Dean can’t resist leaning over and kissing.

 

Cas sees an opportunity and seizes it, gripping harder around Dean’s hips and pulling him so their dicks are tacky and sliding together sinfully. Dean’s helpless but to thrust back, every roll against Cas bringing him dangerously closer to coming when he so desperately wants them to last even longer than they already have.

 

“Cas,” Dean whispers into his ear as he forces his hips to still, pressing a kiss against it and nuzzling along his neck, smiling down as Cas slowly focuses his eyes on him. There is a second of staring and then Cas is nudging against him so he can sit up. Dean kneels back to give him room; Cas scrambles to his own knees and reaches out to grip Dean’s ass, grinding them together all over again.

 

Gently, in complete contrast to the desperate look on his face, Cas lowers Dean back to the bed, traces greedy, worshipful hands down his thighs as he spreads him open and nudges against his hole, pressing bluntly against Dean a couple of times before thumbing him open and sliding inside.

 

Dean has to reach out to grip around his cock; that feeling of Cas pressing in, filling him whole, grinding against him so his prostate is all but vibrating as the nerve endings there spasm against Cas’ cockhead is too good, too much, brings him too near. 

 

Cas grins, dropping forward to rest on his elbows and begins what he does best; torturing Dean with slow, filling thrusts that have Dean trembling all over. Part of it is knowing Cas will purposely keep up that same pace throughout, no matter how much Dean pleads for more. Part of it is knowing just how very hard Cas will fuck him when he chooses to. And part of it is just the feel of Cas buried deep inside him, the slide of his shaft against his walls and that feeling of being  _ his _ , that sense of being  _ wanted _ ,  _ loved _ , and  _ claimed _ .

 

Cas smirks, obviously seeing something in Dean’s expression and circles his hips in a slow grind that has Dean calling out, rolling his hips up, asking for more. Cas tilts his chin, leans down, kisses him long and leisurely in time with the way he thrusts into him. 

 

Dean can feel the strain Cas is putting on himself. The tightly coiled muscles of his arm as he holds himself over him, the way his stomach ripples when Dean looks down between them, the way his hips give a little stutter every so often like he’s desperately trying not to thrust harder, take more. And without warning, Cas is withdrawing himself, dropping his head, breathing hard.

 

Dean grins, watching the mop of hair in front of him and waits, doesn’t move, doesn’t reach out. He’s rewarded when Cas slowly lifts his head and smiles at him ruefully, leaning down for another kiss. 

 

“This is… difficult,” Cas manages to say, his voice curdled thick with lust and strain.

 

“Uh huh,” Dean agrees, reaching out to stroke down Cas’ chest. “Worth it though,”

 

Cas gives a soft grunt that doesn’t really seem to mean anything, and then he’s gently pulling Dean upright. Dean shifts to settle between Cas’ legs but he stopped by Cas flopping down on his stomach, raising on parted knees and tilting his hips, presenting himself to Dean with a smirk over his shoulder.

 

Dean feels the click in his throat at the sight before him and is sure it is loud enough for Cas to hear, particularly as his grin widens a touch. He shifts, positioning himself behind and between Cas, parting his cheeks and groaning to himself as he looks, then thrusts hard, filling him and holding himself firmly inside Cas without shifting or moving for several seconds, smirking at the way Cas mewls and attempts to push back.

 

Dean pulls out, wraps his hands around Cas’ hips, slams back in again, closing his eyes at the way Cas is whimpering and talking himself through breathing, all the while keeping himself steady, denying himself the pleasure of coming because he’s determined to wait.

 

There’s a warning coil in the pit of his stomach telling him he’s a few seconds away from not being able to turn back; with a disgruntled whimper of his own Dean pulls out, wrapping a comforting hand around Cas’ thigh as he writhes in front of him, pushing back to be filled again. Dean bends to press a kiss to Cas’ ass cheek which for some reason results in an indignant huff; then Cas his dragging himself upright and pushing insistently on Dean to lay down.

 

Dean shakes his head, shimmies his way down to the edge of the bed and curls himself over it. Cas takes all of a second to take the hint and is standing, all but parading around him territorially before bending Dean over the bed and filling him before Dean’s even got himself settled. 

 

Cas’ pace is a tortured mix somewhere between claiming and cautious as he desperately tries to keep his own control from slipping away from him. Dean shifts a little and the new angle of his hips means every strike of Cas’ cockhead is glancing his prostate; Cas’ thrusts become slower as he fights to keep it together, his breath blasting out unevenly over Dean’s shoulder where he’s curled over him.

 

Two, three more thrusts and Cas is pulling out; Dean looks around to see Cas standing and clenching his fists by his sides, his cock bobbing angrily in protest. It’s enough to have Dean standing and turning, slotting their fingers together and kissing him sweetly, as much as he can for the giant smile on his face. 

 

Cas drops their fingers and wraps his arms loosely around Dean’s waist with a sigh. Dean raises his arms to hook his elbows over Cas’ shoulders and grins at him, dropping pecked kisses on his lips until Cas is smiling as well. 

 

A moment later and Dean is tilting his chin at the bed; Cas nods and laces their fingers together again, tugs gently, guides him down. They curl into one another, making out slowly and sweetly in stark contrast to the desperate way their cocks are knocking and straining together. They take each other in hand, stroking slowly and letting out appreciative hums, building that heat in their guts again.

 

“I think I would like to come now,” Cas says solemnly; it’s enough to make Dean beam a grin at him before nodding, ducking for another kiss and rolling back a little. 

 

‘K. How you wanna do this?” Dean asks; Cas is pressing him onto his back before the question is even out. 

 

Cas leans forward to kiss him softly then straightens up, spreads his hands wide on Dean’s cheeks opening him up wide, and slides home. 

 

There is no holding back this time; Cas’ thrusts are brutal, striking Dean in all the best places in all the best ways, the frantic staccato of skin slapping repeatedly against skin accompanied by desperate moans, mumbles of encouragement, out loud gasps. 

 

Dean shifts to wrap a hand around himself; Cas bats his hand away, pausing for a second to curl his fingers through Dean’s before pinning his hands back against the bed. With a wicked grin Cas circles his hips lazily, grinding his cock hard inside Dean for a few stirs and then is pounding into him all over again.

 

The intensity building in Dean’s gut is a heavy press of near pain, coiling and building with every strike against his prostate, every slide out of Cas’ cock before he thrusts firmly back in. Dean’s cock, straining, leaking, angrily red presses between them as Cas fucks him, the friction not quite enough to ease him and adding more to that desperate roll of pleasure that’s coursing through him. 

 

Dean studies Cas’ face. He’s seen him come so many times he knows exactly what he’s looking for. There’s a certain twitch to his lips, a shift in eyes, a catch in his breath; Dean can tell then that Cas is fighting to hold on, desperate to hold back, and knows Cas is waiting for  _ him _ . Coming together at the same time has happened once or twice for them before, but seeing the intent there on Cas’ face, anticipating the intensity of it, and Dean thinks he’ll be lucky if he doesn’t pass out.

 

A violent twist in his gut, a rising tensing of his balls; Dean’s toes curl and catch against the sheets as Cas thrusts into him and he can count the build of pleasure, one deepening of heat at a time. 

 

Cas calls his name desperately; Dean wants to tell him he’s got nothing to hold back for now but he’s so lost in his own pleasure that he can’t find a way to let the words out. Instead he rolls his hips up against Cas, them moving in the perfect synchronicity that in one, two, three more thrusts has them both tipping over the edge.   

 

Dean arches up off the bed making Cas grip his fingers in the sheets to stop himself toppling, but Cas is spasming himself, juddering forward uncontrollably, spurting rapidly into Dean and letting out this groan Dean thinks in the future is going to make him come just remembering it.

 

They collapse together messily, a tangle of limbs wrapped around each other as they crest their orgasms, whimper out their pleasure, hold on to one another as anchors as they both feel lightheaded and weak. 

 

It takes several minutes for their breathing to ease out again. Cas looks down between them at the smeared mess on Dean’s chest and huffs, smiling as he waves an absent finger in the air and they are instantly clean again. 

 

Cas withdraws himself from Dean with a wince and all but falls down on the bed beside him. A couple of seconds to calm and he’s shifting, turning, pulling Dean to him and settling him in his arms. 

 

“That was…” Dean begins to mumble into Cas’ skin.

 

“Yes,”

 

“It was-”

 

“Yes. Yes it was,”

 

At the smugness in Cas’ tone Dean finds the strength to raise his head, drop his chin down on Cas’ chest and stare up at him bleary-eyed. He thinks of a retort, finds his mind blank, his body ruined, drops his cheek back down on Cas’ chest with a huff. The last thing he remembers before sleeping is Cas curling up to drop an affectionate kiss to the top of his head and tightening his arms around him with a contented sigh.


End file.
